


The Change In The Game

by Aftersilence



Category: Figure Skating RPF, Olympics RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 10:42:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14103609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aftersilence/pseuds/Aftersilence
Summary: What if they weren't?What if they haven't been lying this whole time? What if they still haven't figured themselves out even though the rest of the world has?





	The Change In The Game

**Author's Note:**

> Standard disclaimer: I'm so so sorry that I have gone down this dark and twisty RPF road. I feel dirty. But also oh so good. I haven't written anything in years, so this is going to be a bit rough. But it turns out Unresolved Sexual Tension is my jam. This was supposed to be a text conversation followed by a bit of bait from Tessa. Turned out a bit smutty in the middle. Whoops. I just wondered...what if they haven't been lying this whole time? What if Scott's Boston Harbour level tea spill was an accident?
> 
> There has already been SO MUCH great fic in relation to this specific incident, I apologise if this is too similar to the others. I wrote it in an hour then realised I was about to be late for work so had to wait 9 painful hours to post it.

Scott is pulling into the driveway after the hockey when his phone dings. Assuming it will be a notification of a photo tag from the game (he’d taken a LOT of photos with fans) he only glances at the preview on his home screen briefly as he is getting out the car…then he stops, frowning. It’s a message from Tessa. 

“WTF Scott?” 

He opens the message and sees a screenshot from someone’s Instagram and he cringes. It is a photo he’d taken with some fans, but it’s the caption that makes him groan a little. “When you invite @scottmoir14 for beers but he has to get back to @tessavirtue17.” He heads inside, dumping his coat and boots before replying. 

“They were hitting on me (I think?) and I panicked!” The response is almost immediate:  
“Clearly.” 

Scott can picture the exact, slightly exasperated expression on her face and the ghost of a smile appears on his face. If he wasn’t so worried about how much trouble he’s in, he would laugh. 

He settles in on his couch and dials her number, knowing that he can gauge how annoyed she is by how many times she lets the phone ring before she picks it up. Fortunately, she answers immediately, and instead of hello, he launches straight into an apology. 

“I’m sorry, T. I know this isn’t helping.” 

She sighs. “I have no idea how we’re going to talk our way out of this one. Yet again, the truth seems impossible to believe. I mean, really, it sounds like the lamest excuse of all time ‘Oh yeah, Scott was so afraid of being hit on by two pretty girls that he panicked and pretended that we live together.’” 

Scott starts to laugh. Once he starts, the absurdity of the whole situation hits him and he can’t seem to stop. Tessa waits patiently for a while then gets the giggles as well, his amusement contagious. 

“So, erm, what do you wanna do?” He asks, once he’s gotten his laughter under control. “God, you’re right. People will never believe the truth – that we actually don’t hang out all that often.” A beat, while he thinks, then smirks. “Want me to come over so we can figure it out?”  
He knows exactly the kind of reaction this will get at 11pm on a Saturday night, and sure enough he isn’t disappointed. ‘Intensely private’ sometimes extends even to him.  
Tessa tries to contain the little squeak of panic, turning it into a cough and “No, no, no, that’s okay. You can stay right there.” 

“Three no’s, Tessa? That’s…pretty definite.” Having realised that she’s forgiven him, Scott decides to have some fun with her. He’s restless, and sick of this weird dance they’ve been doing since the end of the Olympics (hell, for at least the last 5 years). He’s sick of the awkwardness that comes out of nowhere, sick of her sudden need for privacy from him, sick of waiting, treading water, sick of being on the same page as her (as always) but not able to talk about it (for once). This is something all the mental coaching and therapy in the world couldn’t help them with, because to help, they’d have to name it, this weird thing between them that they (she) refuse to fully realise. 

“I really think we could…be pretty productive.” He deliberately drops his voice a little, knowing she’ll read between the lines.  
“Scott…” Her voice is quiet, breathy, and he knows he’s got her exactly where he wants her, far quicker than he could even have imagined (and he has imagined plenty).  
“Are you home alone, T?”  
“Yes…”  
“Sure you don’t want some company?”

There’s silence, just her slightly heavier, slightly shaky breathing coming down the phone, and Scott wonders how long he can keep this up before he cracks and gets back in his car and drives to her house. He waits a beat before continuing.  
“You know that whatever you’re picturing will be better in real life.” He’s trying to keep his voice low and steady, but when he hears her draw in a sharp breath at his words he realises the effect she’s having on him, simply by breathing down the phone.  
‘This is ridiculous.’ He thinks, knowing that their stupid agreement got them into this state and now neither of them is game enough to break the stalemate. 

“We…I don’t…” she’s struggling to get the words out but you don’t spend 20 years with someone without knowing how to fill in the gaps. He closes his eyes for a second, trying to will the blood back up his body to his brain, and when he opens them, feels a bit more coherent. 

“What are we waiting for, Tess? We agreed, ‘no distractions, only training’ until the Olympics. The Olympics are over, we did it, we get to move on now.” 

There’s another silence. When she speaks, it’s quiet.  
“But we can’t go back, Scotty. Once we move on, that’s it. What if it all goes wrong? I can’t…”  
She trails off again and he knows the terror she must be feeling at the thought of it. His heart knocks against his chest at the idea of losing her – their partnership (or whatever you want to call it) is the single most important thing in his life. 

He can’t believe he’s doing this, but he says it anyway. 

“We’ve gone there before, Tess. We made it through. Nothing can break us.” His voice gets rough as he lets himself get lost in the memory. “And I know you remember how good it was…remember how we fit together? Remember how I made you feel? Because I do. I remember how your face flushed when you came, how you marked my chest, how it felt to have my hands tangled in your hair. One slip, but I can’t forget it. That memory plays over and over in my head. The number of cold showers I’ve taken is nothing compared to how many times I’ve had to get myself off before I skate with you, before I put my hands all over you, because every time I do I remember that day at ACI, when I felt you up during our practice dance, and then took you in your bed that afternoon. Don’t think I don’t remember how distracted you were the rest of that practice.”

“Don’t think I don’t remember how excited you were the rest of that practice.” She speaks for the first time in a while, a faint note of challenge in her voice. He feels a thrill in his chest at hearing her speak. 

“You don’t think this wasn’t hard for me too? To spend days with your hands all over my body while we trained, then to go home to an empty apartment, an empty bed? Nothing I did to myself could come close to what you did to me. I felt the shadow of your hands and mouth for days.” She’s still speaking so quietly, but he can’t mistake the note of frustration in her voice. 

The excitement has been replaced by panic now, after 20 years this boldness is a side of Tessa he’s never known and he has no idea where this is going.

“I…errr…” he fumbles, struggling to find words. He’s abandoned all pretence at keeping himself under control now and is wondering how seedy it is to pull his jeans down right here on his couch. 

He hears her breathe out a chuckle and wonders if she’s in similarly dire straights right now. 

“Goodnight, Scott. Get some sleep.”

“How?!” He chokes out, worried that she’s about to hang up on him. He’d do ANYTHING to prolong this phone call. 

Another laugh. “You’ll figure it out, I’m sure.” With that, the line goes dead. 

“FUCK.” He spits as he drops the phone onto the couch beside him. Another cold shower, and another sleepless night lay ahead. 

 

The next morning, he wonders if it was a dream.  
A quick check of his call log shows it wasn’t, and he’s already half hard before he opens Instagram and sees the story she has posted. 

He barely has the mental clarity to tap out a text to her. 

“Holy FUCK Tessa.” 

Scott doesn’t even have time to consider if she’ll tell him off for swearing because she replies immediately. In fact he wonders if she’s been waiting for him to wake up and see it, phone in her hand, heart racing as much as his is right now. He takes a deep breath as he opens the message. 

“What are you doing tonight?” 

YOU, is his first thought, and he has to exercise all of his restraint not to text that to her. Before he can formulate a response that isn’t explicit, his phone dings again.

“Dinner at mine?”

He sucks in a breath and replies “I’ll be there.”

With that he flops back down onto his pillow, wondering how he’s going to get through the next 10 hours knowing that she has just changed the game for good.


End file.
